


watching you is a treat

by JeanSouth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various snippets based on a ship and a prompt that is a bodily or personality feature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> kagakise, eyebrows.

“At least I don’t wax mine,” Kagami bites back, defensive and sulky when Kise tugs at one of the odd patterns of his eyebrows. He doesn’t understand them himself either (never has, doesn’t think anyone ever will), but he refuses to be mocked for them. His hands are batted away when he reaches up to try and dislodge Kise’s.

“I like them,” Is all Kise says, honest, with a gentle smile. Kise has nice eyebrows if Kagami’s honest with his opinion to himself - they’re thin and the exact same bright blonde as his hair. The strands are short and stiff, and never out of place. He reaches up to stroke one the wrong way to try to make it stick up but fails. Kagami doesn’t sulk (not exactly, and he’d never even admit to sulking a little if asked). “Everything about Taiga is unique. No one else has these but you.”

And when he puts it like that, it’s not so bad. Or when he strokes his fingers through Kagami’s hair to his eyebrows, trails his nails through the strands, over his cheekbones then to his lips. Afterwards his mouth follows, and Kagami is content with this too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nebumibu, feet

He wouldn’t say Reo is delicate. He’s seen Reo match him pace for pace running laps, watched him clash with players much bigger than he is on the court. In the past training sessions, Reo has even set up screens against him, and there are few men quite his size in their league of basketball.

It’s why he holds his tongue, when they’re at opposite ends up the bath and he trails a sponge towards him from Reo’s knee. His calves are slickly muscled from years of basketball, and from the ankles downwards his skin is paler. 

Nebuya doesn’t claim to know names or the how-to or bones and tendons, but he knows the tiny bump on the side of Reo’s ankle is sensitive, and that the skin over it is soft. He knows, too, that the spidery bones under pale skin are much stronger than they feel when their narrow width slips by under his fingers. 

The callouses are familiar though, the tiny rough patch just shy of his little toe that steals feeling and sensation (but steals pain too, and that’s good when they’re active so much every day). 

His hands are dark against white soapy bubbles that trail from the soft pads of Reo’s feet and down the arch, over the heel. His hands aren’t the most skilled, but Reo sighs anyway, slumps against the edge of the bathtub, and doesn’t stir until they’re done.

Reo isn’t delicate, but he deserves to be treated like he is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> himuliu, makeup

Liu never means for this to happen. At first it’s innocent; he brings Himuro home for dinner and his mother breaks out the photo albums. There’s pictures of him, tiny and in the bathtub, pictures of him on his birthdays, and a few of a barely-teenaged him on his auntie’s movieset where he has makeup on, and it makes Himuro smirk the way he smirks when they watch an unsuspecting freshman get ambushed for a club.

When Himuro blackmails him (and he uses the word blackmail lightly; no one would hold those pictures against him), he gives in on the stipulation he can do Himuro’s makeup too.

He goes first, two days after they make their agreement to watch a few youtube how-tos first to do it well.

If he’s honest, Himuro is the prettier of the two of them. His skin is smooth and pale like undisturbed milk; foundation would be a heinous sin so he foregoes it, and brushes his fingers over Himuro’s beauty mark.

First it’s eyeshadow - a primer that took him forever to identify in his sister’s bedroom, and pale lavender eyeshadow that feels clumsy on the brush in his fingers. The first three times he messes up, but the fourth time he realizes how and gets the hang of it. Near the edge he tries a darker purple and gets a murmured tease that he’s really going all-out. He returns a dead-pan, fake unamused comment about Himuro looking like he’ll be a prissy client.

In the middle he blends them with a pretty shade and brushes some shimmering dust over them. The eyeliner is a pain and he goes slowly, has to retrace the line twice to get it even and watches critically until he’s satisfied. Himuro does his own lashes before Liu does the other in near-symmetry.

The lips are easier, no lipstick but coloured gloss, dabbed to keep it from being too sticky.

He thinks Himuro is definitely the prettier of them when he’s done, and says as much until he’s told to shut up.

On the other hand, having it done to him is odder; the brush dragging over his eyelids is ticklish and butterfly-soft, and he doesn’t know what colour it is. The tips of Himuro’s fingers blend and brush the shadow out, and he opens a few different palettes before he’s done with them.

The liquid liner is applied in one confident swoop after mascara, and it’s cold when he can feel it drying on his upper lid. A gentle touch of a pencil under his lower lid makes him shiver before it’s smudged by one of the clean fingers Himuro has left.

He feels lipliner soon after, is made to open his mouth wide and keep it there for the next step, then blot the colour on some tissue paper. One messy hand ruffles his hair into artful disarray before they agree to stand up and look.

Part of Himuro’s hair covers his face, but the effect is clear - Liu still thinks he’s almost illegally pretty. He almost doesn’t recognise himself though, eyes widened artfully with the use of white pencil, and smokey khol surrounding them in turn. His lips are red, bright red, much brighter than his tongue when he licks them.

It’s very quiet for a very long time, before Himuro kisses him and they ruin their makeup with sweat and movement and touches.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kagakise, eyes

Kise likes Kagami’s eyes better.

They’re a kind of red, like the setting sun at exactly the right time when he sees it over the city’s skyline in the distance. They’re like one of Akashi’s, but darker and less narrow, completely different despite their similar colour.

But it isn’t really the colour that he likes better. He’s a model - he understands conveying emotions through a glance, but he’s never seen eyes as honest as Kagami’s. His face is expressive but they’re the masterpiece, blazing with emotion when he stares people down.

And really, he’s a little jealous when he thinks of Aomine watching them burn. Kise draws a fingertip under Kagami’s lashline, unaware of the conversation when he’s caught up in his own thoughts. They don’t burn the same to him as they do to Aomine; they simmer but they’re sharper, more focused.

“What’re you doing?” Kagami asks him through a mouthful of burger, and he draws his hand back, incapable of putting those feelings into words. He shrugs instead, and steals a bite from the burger to buy himself time. There’s plenty of cheese on it, delicious and melty and something he doesn’t allow himself too often.

“You have nice eyes,” He settles for, and that gets him all their attention. They look at the court, at players like they should be destroyed, but they look at Kise like they want to devour. It sends a shiver down his spine. “I like them a lot.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kise, sadism

Kise doesn’t understand it until the middle of his last year of high school, when they get new freshmen on the team and one cries out after they’re involved in a minor accident together. He doesn’t understand until he gets home and searches far and wide on the internet why thinking of the incident makes him hard, and it makes him come when he escalates it in his mind.

But Kise is nothing if not adjustable, flexible and accepting. He learns more and more, reads up on safety and sanity but can’t bring himself to go to chatrooms or forums without an overwhelming sense of guilt. For a while, he puts it aside and instead takes the tight feeling in his chest at the thought of his very first inkling as just an attraction. He gives chase to his freshman, gets what he wants and dates him well.

When he gets him into bed it resurfaces at the sight of a body well-lived. Scuff marks on his knees, a few bruises on his elbows; little things here and there that make him cry out if Kise presses down on them.

His fingers dig into a sickly yellow bruise on top of his ribs, big and accidental, like he’s played and caught an elbow the wrong way. It thrills him when it elicits a cry, makes him unthinkably hard when he bites down just a little too hard on one pert nipple, and part of him knows he should stop and ask permission (is this okay? can I do this?) but he doesn’t, he keep going and when he sniffles out a plea for Kise to stop it’s like someone pulls at an imaginary point in his gut and makes him stop.

He does stop, he pets his hair and whispers soothing things, but next time he chooses his partner better, and trains himself to entice people into what he wants instead of pushing them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kiyohana, waist/hips

Teppei likes touching him too much for his peace of mind.

Teppei’s hands are big, yes, but more than his hands he seems to love Hanamiya’s hips (and he rarely uses the word love when Teppei is involved too, in a preemptive gesture to avoid any confusing situations).

In the train his hands cage Hanamiya’s hips too often, like they stake a claim against perverts and mark their territory. His fingertips nudge under the school uniform shirt, and trace patterns on his waist over small purple bruises Hanamiya craves for.

On the streets, one hand always rests on his waist despite the stares they garner. They dig in hard if he protests too much - find the perfect place of bruises - and it’s not to hurt him (not to hurt for the sake of hurting, at least) but to remind him how good it feels.

When they’re in bed he’s the worst, though. Often, if he feels particularly spiteful, he’s delicate. He sucks up kissmarks and nips tiny stinging bites until the skin bruises but doesn’t hurt, and runs his hands over skin like Hanamiya is made of porcelain.

Eventually he breaks and asks for Teppei (lets it be known he wants), then gets what he asks for, quick and rough with a hint of stinging pain, and fingers that bruise his hips.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kiyoaka, moment of weakness

Kiyoshi has come to think that with Akashi, it isn’t a moment of weakness. To put it more accurately would be to call it a string of moments of weakness, because they happen fairly often and are never mentioned.

They’re small things, things most people wouldn’t notice but Kiyoshi takes the time to look out for because it’s Akashi. When faced with someone so perceptive, he won’t be left behind as someone oblivious.

It’s a flicker of weakness - and really he wouldn’t call it weakness, rather softness - that fades in then out just as quickly.

It’s when he steps behind Akashi then puts a hand on his shoulder, and Akashi leans his head to the side; it’s when they sit together at the kotatsu and Akashi relaxes enough to lean on him with the fullest trust that he can and it’s good.

Over time they become bigger (or perhaps, he likes to think, Akashi becomes weaker to his charms) and he no longer has to focus to notice them. They go through different colleges but they keep together, and Akashi lets him choose dates, now and then. On weekends, he stops forcing Kiyoshi to sleep on the other half of the bed.

But he’s just past twenty, on the couch watching a terrible show, when he realizes he has Akashi’s trust completely.

“Sei,” He murmurs, intending to ask for the remote, and he doesn’t get an answer. Akashi jostles when Kiyoshi nudges him, makes a sleepy noise that signals he’s alive, but doesn’t wake up. For a few moments Kiyoshi watches, in awe of Akashi trusting him enough to fall asleep on him, and concedes this may be one of his own moments of weakness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> miyatakamido, hands

Takao likes their hands. He’s not sure when the fascination with it started, but he thinks it’s from before he was allowed to touch, and only got to watch.

His own hands are plain, unextraordinary - his talent lies in his eyes. His fingers are neither long nor short but in all ways average, with ragged nails now and then that his mother reminds him to clip when he bites at them in the living room. Here and there he has a callous; on the side of his middle finger where he holds his pen.

In comparison to Midorima’s, or even Miyaji’s, they’re dull.

When he holds hands with Miyaji, those hands are much bigger than his. With Miyaji he clasps their hands together, and he’s held onto tightly. Sometimes he wonders if Miyaji is shy, but when they doze on the couch, hands cover his own.

The most attention-drawing is Midorima though, and Takao relishes every time he sees those fingers. He relishes being allowed to unbind them and kiss them, test their strength ever so gently with his teeth until he’s scolded. He even relishes when he’s nudged forward and they make him gag slightly.

Miyaji seems to like them, too. There’s no set pattern (none Takao can think of, anyway) to how they love, but on occasion he ends up on his hands and knees over Midorima, with those extraordinary fingers inside him under Miyaji’s orders, and when larger fingers join them, he’s glad it’s not his own hands.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aomido, neck

Midorima isn’t Kise’s type of gorgeous. He’s not a conventional type of handsome, masculine but unthreatening. Nor is he Akashi’s type of handsome, wide-eyed and intense.

But he’s gorgeous nonetheless. Sometimes Aomine thinks about it, when he’s halfway to sleep and too languidly content in the afternoon sun to police his own thoughts and force them not to drift too far.

Midorima has long, thick eyelashes that stand out less due to his glasses, and he has eyes that switch between skittering away shyly and staring before starting a lecture. His hands have always been extraordinary, precious and well-cared for. They connect to thin wrists, muscled slightly but still a bit bony.

His chest is wider, firmer than Aomine would expect, and he’s too tall to be fair. Long, long legs and perfect hips, perfect muscled thighs and soft soft hair.

It’s his neck though, that catches Aomine’s eyes. It’s there always, peeking out from shirtcollars or bared in basketball jerseys. Slender, smooth and pale. At the back, soft, short green hair tickles his fingers when he touches it. There’s an expanse before he can feel the first nub of Midorima’s spine that leads down his back like an arrow.

His Adam’s apple is visible and touchable, close to his pulse and gives away his nervousness sometimes. 

When Midorima bares his neck, Aomine is allowed to mark it (just a little, lightly and enough to cover) and afterwards, he can see his proof of their relationship when Midorima avoids the question.

(Midorima, in turn, thinks Aomine is fascinating, beautiful and an enigma. He thinks a great many rude, unpleasant or filthy things about him too within the privacy of his own mind, but the ultimate conclusion on necks and skin and bodies is that he’d very, very much like to find out what colour kiss-marks go on Aomine’s skin.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okamori, embarrassment. SHIP THIS WITH ME OK PLS PLS PLS

Okamura is sure Moriyama (Yoshitaka, he has to remind himself for a long time) does it on purpose. 

They’re small touches, holding hands on the couch that he’s not used to. It’s not that Yoshitaka is a guy, not really; it’s the unfamiliarity of a relationship, the finally getting something he’s been looking for ever since he joined the basketball club.

It’s when Yoshitaka sends him photo texts or private tweets of clothing or food, asking if this will look good or he wants to eat that. Domestic things, quiet and sweet despite the distance that keeps them from meeting more than on the weekends.

Skype calls when he’s far too forward and says wonderful filthy things he’s never given mind to, never wondered what it would be like to do but now is getting a full explenation of.

He’s sure Yoshitaka does it on purpose, calculated actions to make Okamura flustered and confused when he’s the only one not used to it, but when he does it himself it’s unintentional.

Yoshitaka rarely gets caught in the same floundering he does, but when he does he goes quiet, red in the face and loses his ability to speak.

And he sort of understands then why Yoshitaka does it, because it’s cute, makes him lose his own breath and is a moment he commits to memory.

(Really, Moriyama does do it on purpose and gleefully remembers it after it’s done and he’s alone. A boyfriend, honest and sweet and accepting of his mischief is just as cute a girlfriend.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imasaku, ears

Imayoshi’s ears are surprisingly sensitive. The tips of them are hidden by his hair, and they’re unremarkable at a first and second glance.

It’s not until they’re together and Sakurai touches one, slides off Imayoshi’s glasses then trails his fingers over the shell, that he finds out about it. They’re soft and warm, flexible in the ways ears are that he’s never paid attention to before. 

By way of earlobes there’s not much, and it feels different from his own when he runs his fingers down the edge, towards Imayoshi’s neck. It draws a shiver out of him, but he doesn’t say a word.

Lately, he hasn’t protested or given instruction; at first Sakurai had floundered in the lack of firmness to hold onto but slowly, slowly he’s coming to grips with this freedom to do what he wants. 

A hand comes up to grip his hair when he leans down until his mouth is near Imayoshi’s temple. He feels another shiver, how the hand on his head slightly shakes when he sighs out a nervous breath that ghosts over it.

He kisses from Imayoshi’s temple to his neck, barely-there touches that makes his hair tickle at him. Sakurai kisses up to where his ear meets his jawline and nibbles at it gently until Imayoshi jerks underneath him. More kisses trail up to the very top of it and he tugs at it slightly until it bends, then breathes out ever so shakily.

Before he can draw another breath they’re rolled over and the control is no longer his, but he remembers the weak point forever.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurofuri, nose

In summer, Furihata has freckles on the bridge of his nose. They’re faint, nearly invisible marks, and Kuroko doesn’t notice them until his second year, when he gets to know Furihata better.

The air is hot but the stone floor of the sixth floor balcony is cool and shaded; moisture in the air sticks to his skin and his lungs when he inhales a little too deeply. Above him, the next floor’s balcony is a dull grey. Plants hangs from it, spidery vines trailing along the pot to dangle out as if reaching for him.

He trails one finger over Furihata’s cheekbone to his nose, as if expecting to feel the freckles. The skin there is soft, and though he can’t feel Furihata inhale despite the closeness of his arm, he hears his breath shake.

The skin is still soft when he rolls to his side and props his arm under him, uncomfortably caught in his loose shirt. His kisses press to Furihata’s brow, to his eyelid in a butterfly kiss, and to the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“Okay?” He asks, quiet, breath ghosting hot over the pattern of freckles. They move away when he nods, and Kuroko takes a kiss too. He spends a lot of time close enough to see every detail, but he shuts his eyes and feels instead.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kisekasa, failure

Kise doesn’t fail at many things, and as a result he relishes it at first. At first, it’s been the unfamiliar rush of not being as good, of something not being easy. It’s been something he has to work at and practice; motivation on a silver platter.

As he grows older, leaves Teiko and enters Kaijou, for a long time it’s slipping back into naturally being good (the best, a vain little part of him supplies) at something. He’s better than Moriyama, better than all of his team, and even better than Kasamatsu despite his skill and dedication.

The first time he wins games with them, it feels natural, like he couldn’t have expected any less or any different and thus empty. The others take it differently and praise that they can’t lose with him there. Though it’s an easy win, sharing the win makes it less empty.

It’s not long before he discovers that he also shares losses, and it makes them hurt instead of inspire. The loss clenches in his chest as if he shares it with Kasamatsu; his head feels at once heavy and light like the dazed expression on Moriyama’s face.

Kasamatsu is much more used to failure; knows the bitter taste much better. There’s no reassurance it gets easier when he waits for Kasamatsu after telling everyone else to leave, and his captain’s eyes are red, slightly puffy and his hood is pulled up over his head.

His own failure is heavy (though not as heavy as Kasamatsu’s, he assumes), but sharing it makes it lighter. Kise loops an arm over Kasamatsu’s shoulders (heavy too, distracting and ungentle, with fingers that dig in through fabric), and for once doesn’t get pushed away.

He doesn’t get to see Kasamatsu’s face, and doesn’t try to - doesn’t want to. What he wants to see is Kasamatsu’s face next time they win.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kisetaka, twofaced

Kise is pretty sure being twofaced isn’t always a bad thing. His pleasant face is smiling, halfway to sincere and leaks kind words and enthusiasm like ice held over open flame. His other is more sly, hidden and aware of what his pleasant persona gains him. His attainable personality makes him touchable, desirable, and infinitely more marketable.

Without gain, he doesn’t know why Takao does it. To a certain level, he understands, he supposes. His life is easier being well liked, maybe not always more peaceful but more pleasant. For Takao, it’s similar.

“They chase me too much,” He lets himself complain when he’s with Takao, in similar company. Takao never misunderstands that a few complaints mean he’s not happy rather than just wanting an outlet. Fingers stroke his brow, down to his lips and feel the texture of his tongue until he stops talking.

“I know,” Takao agrees, as if he’s experienced it before. The skin on his fingers is flavourless and impartial; the flesh gives a little under his teeth. “My team fights too much.”

Kise doesn’t really understand why Takao’s pleasant persona stays firmly put on around Midorima, because this down to earth, more balanced with negative emotions Takao would get along with him far better. Kise swallows down his questions with a kiss, allows himself to be selfish, and doesn’t question Takao’s other face.


End file.
